Thursday, February 16, 2012

My
Husband Tried to Kill Me (not
really)

Several
years ago, my husband Bob tried to kill me.
No, he didn’t employ a hired gun from the cast of the Sopranos. He secretly used a much more subtle, much
less noticeable, and yes, much less incriminating method to help me meet my
demise.

I’ll
explain.

Step
into the time machine with me and travel back to the year 2000. Bob and I needed a change of scenery, a
change of pace, a break from our tedious routine. So, we arranged for the lucky grandparents to
spend a week with their three year old granddaughter Melissa, and hopped a
cross country flight to the place where Tony Bennett left his heart. Yes, The Golden Gate Bridge, Fishermen’s
Wharf, old fashioned trolley cars, and the world’s most crooked street welcomed
this east coast couple with open arms.

Bob
and I immediately embraced San Francisco’s fine dining, beautiful scenery,
fascinating history, quaint shopping galleries, and multi-cultural neighborhoods. However, on the second day of our vacation, I
started to feel a bit tired. A slow
growing, throbbing sensation gripped the back of my head until finally, on day
three, the pain could no longer be ignored.
Reluctantly, I asked Bob if he had any Tylenol.

Never
one to disappoint, Bob pulled out a prescription bottle filled to the brim with
pills of assorted shapes and sizes. A
year earlier, he had been diagnosed with diabetes. Fortunately, Bob took his medication
diligently, resulting in normal blood sugar levels with each three month doctor’s
visit. Numerous drugs kept Bob healthy,
and he carried them all in one prescription bottle, the contents of which now
sat in his hand. He pulled out two
Tylenol and gave them to me. I gulped
then down, gave him a kiss of thanks, and we continued on our merry way.

The
next morning dawned with my head still throbbing, so I requested more Tylenol from
my husband, a pharmacy at the ready! This
day’s journey began with a trip to the rental car agency where we procured a
vehicle that would take us north into wine country, a picturesque area turned
brown and arid as a result of an unusual California heat wave. As the temperature reached upwards of 104
degrees Fahrenheit, my head continued to throb.
The wine tasting didn’t help matters.
I looked at my husband and feebly asked for more Tylenol.

However,
this time, he did not respond to my request, but looked away, afraid to meet my
steady gaze.

“What’s
wrong?” I inquired, getting slightly suspicious.

“Oh
nothing, nothing really, it’s no big deal,” he said.

“What,
just tell me,” I requested.

“Remember,
this really isn’t that big a deal,” he insisted.

“Ok,
so just tell me!” I demanded.

“Well,
you know how I’ve been giving you Tylenol and your headaches have not been
getting better?” he asked.

“Yeah,”
I replied, stating the obvious.

“Well,
it’s because I’ve been giving you glucophage by mistake.”

Now,
I should pause here in my little tale to explain that glucophage is a
medication given to people with diabetes to help control the amount of sugar in
their blood. If you read the fine print
on the prescription bottle, it clearly warns:

"Do not use to get rid of your
non-diabetic wife’s headaches."

So
at this point, my rational, logical brain took over and I reacted very calmly. I immediately concluded that, thanks to ingesting
glucaphage, my hours left on the planet were, indeed, numbered.

“YOU
GAVE ME WHAT?” I shouted at my frightened husband, who stood quaking in his boots,
terrified of my reaction. “HOW COULD YOU
DO THAT? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME!”

Needless
to say, I lived to tell the tale. The
incident did, however, put a minor kink in our well planned vacation. Seems Bob had filled his prescription bottle
with just the right amount of pills to last during the week we would be
away. Since I had now taken four pills
intended for him, we rapidly concluded that he would not have enough to last
until we got home. Forget about what
would happen to me for taking diabetes medication I wasn’t supposed to take, we were now more concerned about what
would happen to Bob for not taking
diabetes medication he was supposed
to take.

Fortunately
for us, we owned a cat. No, the cat did
not fly across the country to bring Bob his diabetes medication. But the cat did need to eat every day, and,
thankfully, a gracious neighbor had agreed to make sure the feline didn’t
starve. This meant that this same gracious
neighbor had a key to our house, and could go in, find Bob’s diabetes
medication, and fed ex the pills to our hotel in San Francisco, which she did!

In
the end, our neighbor saved the day, and neither one of us met our maker during
our trip to San Francisco. However, I
did learn a valuable lesson. Tony Soprano’s got nothing on my Bob!

Comments and feedback are encouraged and welcome. For some reason, many people have told me they have left a comment, but it has not appeared. To leave a comment, click on the arrow next to "comment as", then choose "anonymous". If you would like to include your name, please leave your name in the body of your post. Once you have posted your comment and chosen anonymous, then hit publish. Check the page the make sure your comment appeared. Thank you!!

Metro Kids Mom Speak

Follow by Email

About Me

My blog takes a humorous and poignant look at parenting my daughter Melissa, who is in college, enjoying my new role as "Mom Mom to my step-daughter Jessica's baby boy, and celebrating two decades of marriage to my husband and best friend, Bob. Thank you to Bob, Melissa, and Jessica for constantly giving me such good material!

How to leave a comment

Comments and feedback are encouraged and welcome. If you would like to leave a comment, click on the arrow next to:

"comment as" then choose either "anonymous" or "name". You'll be prompted to leave your name (if you choose name) and url - if you do not have a website, leave the url field blank. Once you have posted your comment and left your name, then hit "publish". Thank you!!